


can you take me to that place?

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More or less PWP. Carlos and Cecil explore bondage (at which they're old hands), and some other things (at which they're not). Bottom!Cecil; cautious-new-top!Carlos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can you take me to that place?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gabsgen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabsgen/gifts).



> Welcome to Night Vale characters and settings do not belong to me and are used here without thought of financial gain.
> 
> My deepest gratitude goes to my own Cecil, queerlyobscure, who betaed this work for me and also came up with some of the key ideas (see endnote for spoilery details).
> 
> * * *

Carlos has learned, with time and patience, that there are some pleasantly consensual ways in which to silence the Voice of Night Vale. He doesn't require a gag to do it; he refuses to deprive Cecil of any more senses. But there are certain methods that render Cecil incapable of speech, and one of his favorites is the one he's currently employing.

Cecil looks delightfully needy. Spreadeagled on his back, his wrists and ankles bound to the corner bedposts, as far as Carlos is concerned, Cecil is the perfect one. Everything about his body is beautiful. But Carlos is patient and starts at the top, lifting Cecil's head to loosen the rawhide tie holding his short ponytail prisoner at the nape of his neck. It's the only cord he intends to remove for at least the next half an hour. He frees Cecil's hair and begins stroking it, running his fingers through it and letting it cascade around his shoulders in a dark waterfall. Cecil's slitted pupils dilate and his tongue flickers out between his lips.

"You... my hair..."

"You don't let Telly anywhere near this, do you?" Carlos asks, savoring the feeling of the soft strands slipping between his fingers.

"Oh, it behaves itself." A tendril winds itself affectionately around Carlos's index finger. "Mostly."

"I like it."

Cecil blushes. (For that matter, around Carlos, Cecil is rarely not blushing.) "It couldn't possibly be as lovely as yours, dear Carlos."

Carlos tilts his head against one of Cecil's hands and Cecil's fingers immediately tangle in his hair. "Oily. Prematurely gray. It's awful."

"Not at all."

Carlos can't help but smile at the sincerity in Cecil's voice. "I look like a skunk."

"Oh, now, I know that's not true. You don't have the stripes for it." Cecil's voice drops lower, insinuating. "And you don't waddle. You stride. It's manly."

Carlos laughs and Cecil smiles, tongue flickering. Carlos leans in to kiss him, unable to resist the lure of that pretty pink tongue, feeling the twin tips on either side of the tip of his own tongue, stroking and twisting. He knows very well the things that Cecil can do with that tongue, but tonight is not the night to explore them.

Instead, he pulls away altogether and makes a show of rummaging through the nightstand drawer, although the thing that he wants is on the top, nestled safe in a black satin bag. Cecil’s head turns toward him and he can feel himself being watched. He glances around the room and finally spots the rat settled on one of the bookshelves. It’s decidedly less creepy than the tarantula from the early days, and Cecil much prefers looking through two eyes instead of eight; it's easier to focus with binocular vision.

Carlos brings the toy out of its bag and traces its tip along the sensitive skin of Cecil’s inner arm.

“Oh, it’s so cold... is it metal?”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Carlos rolls it between his hands, feeling the metal warm with his body.

“What’s it for?”

“Guess.”

Cecil giggles, actually _giggles_ , and wriggles with delight. “I’ll let you surprise me.” His tone of voice suggests that he won’t be entirely surprised.

Carlos keeps warming the plug with his right hand and runs his left hand down Cecil’s body, starting with a fingertip at the base of his throat but making contact with his entire hand by the time he reaches the neat triangle of mottled, sand-colored scales between Cecil’s thighs. Even in the reduced light afforded to them by the one lamp beside the bed, the scales shimmer a little. Carlos cups his palm over them, spreading his fingers to feel the way that they overlap very slightly. Cecil shivers and blinks and smiles, and Carlos is compelled to kiss him again.

“Dear Carlos. Sweet Carlos.” He tugs against the ropes, stark black around his wrists and ankles. “I want to hold you.”

“You can’t,” Carlos informs him, injecting what he hopes is the right commanding note into his voice. “You have to stay put and let me do whatever I want to you.”

Cecil whines in the back of his throat and his hips lift a little. Carlos presses him back down against the bed with his left hand and brings his right around to brush the tip of the toy between Cecil’s legs. If they weren’t already spread, Cecil would have parted them for that touch. Carlos knows this as well as he knows everything else about Cecil's body.

“Carlos, please, _please_...”

“Please what?”

Cecil’s pupils narrow to the finest of slits. “ _Now_ ,” he says, and for a word with no sibilants it sure as hell sounds like he hisses it. For a second Carlos forgets who’s meant to be in charge here. But it only lasts a second.

“When I’m ready,” he says, and drops the plug to the bedspread. It bounces but doesn’t roll away; it’s too solid for that.

Cecil, to a certain degree, is self-lubricating; they’ve played before without any lube and with over the top lashings of it and eventually found a reasonable middle ground. Carlos retrieves the bottle from the still-open drawer and squeezes some onto his fingertips.

Besides, even if Cecil naturally got so wet that he dripped, this preparation, this ritual of making him ready, would still be enjoyable.

His fingers circle the outer rim of Cecil’s entrance before dipping into the lowest of the inner apertures; it’s the hottest and tightest of the three. Cecil makes an undignified noise that, were he to make it on the air, would bring Station Management down on his head instantly. Carlos doesn’t hesitate any longer before giving him two fingers of his right hand while simultaneously pressing down with his left hand, holding him down against the mattress. Cecil bucks anyway and Carlos immediately withdraws his fingers.

“Behave, or you get nothing,” he admonishes Cecil, trying for stern and succeeding, judging by the shiver that runs through Cecil’s body.

Cecil’s breathing is arrhythmic, but he’s still got a rogue smile lurking around the corners of his lips. He pokes his tongue out at Carlos, just as far as the fork, and wriggles the tips.

“You...” Carlos can’t really do anything painful to him, but he pinches Cecil’s nipple anyway, because apart from anything else he likes the way the hard little nub feels between his slick fingers. Cecil tosses his head against the pillow and then settles.

Carlos slips his fingers back inside Cecil; two in the lowest space again and one in the middle, just for variety. Cecil whines, but this time stays perfectly still, and Carlos strokes his belly, feeling the complicated dissolve of flesh into scales, both soft and smooth but so very different. He pushes and twists and even pinches a little, and Cecil responds to every move with sounds of delight.

Eventually Carlos decides that Cecil is prepared enough for the plug, and picks it back up. It's conical with a rounded tip and a flared base, which is fairly standard, but instead of plastic or silicone it's made out of solid stainless steel. A ring attached to the base makes it even easier to remove -- or to twist and turn once it's in place.

Cecil squeaks a little when Carlos presses the tip of the toy against him, and then his mouth gapes open in a silent cry as Carlos pushes it home.

“ _Oh_. Oh, stars and moon, Carlos...” On the bookshelf, the rat squeaks as well, although why, Carlos doesn’t know. He’s never quite been sure just how symbiotic Cecil’s relationship with his surrogate eyes is.

He makes sure the plug is sitting comfortably inside Cecil, twists it a little just to watch the way Cecil’s pupils widen and shrink, and then moves to lie atop him. Cecil is restrained, stretched taut underneath him; Carlos, not a small man, nonetheless feels rather like a little animal settling down on a favorite cushion for a nap.

Except that cushions don’t usually whimper, and he has no intention of napping.

His cock is snug against Cecil’s scales, and it would be a matter of one quick movement to be inside him, but Carlos is holding back for the moment, no matter how much Cecil rubs against him, those smooth scales slick with lube and Cecil’s own juices feeling amazing against his sensitive skin. He wants to make this last as long as Cecil can take it, as long as he can keep giving.

He kisses Cecil slowly, pulling back every time Cecil’s tongue reaches out, licking at the corners of Cecil’s mouth and only brushing his lips against Cecil’s every so often. It quickly becomes a torment for him as well but only when Cecil murmurs, “ _Carlos_ ,” and gives him a pleading look does he close the kiss properly, his tongue slipping against Cecil’s, their lips sealing close together. The feeling of gratification pulses hard through him and, judging from the way Cecil’s hips lift against him, Cecil can feel the way his body is reacting.

“Carlos, please, I want you, I want you, I _need_ you,” he chants feverishly into Carlos’s mouth.

Carlos lifts off him entirely to kneel between Cecil’s thighs, which are shaking just a little from the strain. He makes a lazy fist around his cock with his left hand - in this respect at least he’s always been ambidextrous - and teases at Cecil’s middle opening with the tip of his right index finger.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, and Cecil groans, eyes rolling back in his head.

“ _Yes_! Please, Carlos, please...”

Carlos silences him this time by the simple expedient of taking his hand off his cock and pushing two pre-come coated fingers into Cecil’s mouth. Cecil’s tongue wraps around them and he sucks desperately, and Carlos decides on the spot that the awkward angle and difficult position can go to hell; he needs his cock in Cecil’s mouth, needs to feel that greedy forked tongue working on him the way that Cecil has learned that he likes.

He moves up the bed, tucking his knees tight in against Cecil’s chest on either side, and although he’s almost certainly blocking the rat’s line of vision Cecil nonetheless knows exactly what’s coming and opens his mouth, licking his lips, tongue beckoning. Carlos grips the headboard and pushes into Cecil’s mouth in one graceless hurried thrust, much rougher than he intended. Cecil lets out a sound that can only be of delight and then his tongue is dancing over Carlos’s cock and all Carlos can do is hang on tight and try not to collapse.

Carlos still doesn’t know if he’s Cecil’s first boyfriend, or first lover at all, or anything like that. They haven’t talked about past experience; there’s no need to, not when they can just experience each other. He does know that he’s never been with anyone quite like Cecil. He doesn’t think that anyone quite like Cecil even exists outside of Night Vale. And now that he’s in Night Vale, what people outside of Night Vale are like doesn’t really matter any more.

There are lessons that he’s retained from them, though. Such as when he reaches down and fists his hand around Cecil’s ponytail, he knows not to push or yank, but just to hold and stroke, the soft, thick strands of Cecil’s hair winding around his wrist and holding him in return. Unable to urge him on in any other way, Cecil is doing the best he can with his lips and tongue and hair to encourage Carlos to -- well. Gentler words are more appropriate at gentler times; what Cecil wants is for Carlos to fuck his mouth.

The twin tips of Cecil’s tongue run either side of Carlos’s shaft; the head of his cock rubs against the roof of Cecil’s mouth and Cecil tilts his head just so and swallows and _oh_ , Carlos feels the contraction flush against his burning skin and has to restrain himself from tightening his fist on Cecil's hair and choking Cecil from the inside out. Judging from the appreciative, pleading, muffled noises that Cecil is making, he might not even mind.

Carlos feels his peak coming as an untwisting of pure heat deep in his groin; he full-body shudders once, twice; and then pulls back just before he tips over the edge.

“ _Carlos_ ,” Cecil complains.

Carlos shuffles backward until he’s straddling Cecil’s waist and bends his head to kiss Cecil. He can taste himself on Cecil’s lips, bittersalt hot, a contrast to the way Cecil always seems to taste cooler and more neutral.

Speaking of the taste of Cecil... Carlos moves further down the bed, going to his belly between Cecil’s legs -- ignoring the way that his cock complains at being compressed between his body and the mattress rather than slipped into Cecil’s waiting entrance -- and gives the ring on the base of the steel plug a quick twist. Cecil _yowls_ and bucks and Carlos presses his lips to the scales that run down either side of Cecil’s entrance before dipping his tongue in. He licks lightly at the uppermost, smallest entrance; Cecil has shyly admitted that he wouldn’t mind something being slipped in there, but even Carlos’s pinkie finger is too wide. No matter. There are other things that can be bought at the same place where he bought the plug, even if it’s a little embarrassing to know that the proprietor probably speculates about how he uses his toys.

(At least the _whole_ town probably doesn’t know, unlike the cockring incident. Cecil does not have much of a brain to mouth filter when it comes to their relationship. Station Management still hasn’t given the ring back. Carlos does not want to think about what they might have confiscated it for.)

For now it’s enough to lick and taste, pressing two fingers easily into Cecil’s middle entrance. The scaled folds of skin, both like and unlike a woman’s labia, spread themselves wide so that he can access all three apertures. The base of the plug shines below his fingers. He loves the fact that Cecil is so biddable, but at the same time Cecil’s never been afraid to indicate - with words, usually, but once or twice by biting - when he’s not happy with the direction that things are going.

He’s not biting now. Or protesting. Well, he’s protesting a little, but only because Carlos is apparently not being rough enough. Carlos remedies this by pushing a third finger into him and Cecil lets out a low hiss.

“Enough?”

Cecil shakes his head in an emphatic _no_. The rat squeaks. When Carlos glances sideways at it, it’s sprawled out on its side, eyes still fixed on him. He finds it mildly creepy, but it’s still better than the tarantula and it’s unfair to deny Cecil what vision he can have.

Carlos withdraws his fingers, jacking himself up on his left elbow and turning slightly so that Cecil can get a good view of him slipping his fingers into his mouth and sucking. Cecil grins beatifically at him, showing more than a little teeth. He has fangs that go along with that forked tongue but they only reveal themselves sometimes, like when he’s extremely turned on. Like now. They peek out over his lower lip and Carlos shivers, remembering the first time that Cecil had bitten him, the unexpected sharpness, soothed by both tips of that lithe tongue.

One last thing, now; he leans over and fishes in the drawer again. Cecil has assured him that they shouldn’t need condoms, but Carlos has seen enough evolutionary diversity in his time - more so in Night Vale than anywhere beforehand, actually - to not want to run the risk.

His first absurd clichéd thought when he finally slides into Cecil is, _home_. Cecil is home, and this bed is home, and this apartment is home, and the lab is home, and Night Vale is home. It must be. Why else would he be here?

Cecil sighs and pulls against his bonds, letting out a soft pleading noise. Carlos tucks his hands under Cecil’s shoulders, but that’s the closest he’s prepared to come to actually embracing him, for the time being anyway. Not that he doesn’t want to; just that it’s not part of the game. He can feel the smoothness of the plug inside Cecil, separated from his cock by not very much at all. It makes Cecil tighter; Carlos has to pause at the realization, because now he’s thinking about that instead of wondering how much longer Cecil’s arms can hold out, he’s actually very close to coming.

“ _Carlos_.” Cecil jerks his hips up as best as he can manage considering the ropes and the way that Carlos has him pinned, and Carlos starts moving again. Hands under Cecil’s shoulders. Forehead resting against Cecil’s forehead. Long, slow, sure strokes. Cecil’s breathing ebbs and flows and catches and falls. Carlos presses his mouth to Cecil’s, feels the prick of his fangs, and lets out a sobbing gasp when Cecil darts his head sideways and _bites_. There’s going to be a mark on his collarbone in the morning. There’s going to be a mark on his collarbone for _weeks_.

“Sorry,” Cecil says, and this time there’s definitely a hiss.

“Liar,” Carlos says. “Silver-tongued liar.” And he holds Cecil tighter and fucks into him harder, knowing that it’s what Cecil wants, knowing that Cecil’s been leading him in this direction even though Cecil’s ostensibly helpless, and not caring.

Now he’s really started he can’t stop. Cecil doesn’t mind; he’s begging for more and Carlos doesn’t know how to give him any more than what he is. He seals his mouth over Cecil’s and tastes his own blood on Cecil’s lips and Cecil, if anything, manages to get even louder. It’s fortunate that nobody is working late in the lab tonight; there’s only a flight of stairs between them and the silent rows of beakers and Bunsen burners and test tubes. If it weren’t for the risk of breaking glass, one of the finer pipettes would probably fit nicely into that final opening that Cecil keeps asking him to fill. Although perhaps a plastic one... it’s a thought for next time.

A year ago they’d barely met. Two years ago he didn’t even know where Night Vale was. Now here he is thinking about using delicate scientific equipment for sexual purposes.

“ _Carlossss_...”

While he’s been woolgathering, Cecil has been peaking under him, and Carlos lifts his head and refocuses his eyes in time to see Cecil’s eyes open wide, the irises swallowed by the pupils, and Cecil’s mouth open, fangs shining, as Carlos’s name tears from his throat like knives dipped in warm honey. He goes so tight around Carlos that for a second Carlos feels constricted within him. Cecil shudders, shudders, and goes still.

“Are you-”

“Don’t stop on my account,” Cecil says, and the words come out slow like he’s forcing them through cotton candy, but Carlos is moving again before he finishes, because he knows what Cecil’s going to say just by the way he’s smiling.

His own orgasm by comparison is a sedate affair; he gasps Cecil’s name and collapses against him, spilling over almost without warning. Cecil can’t hold him but Carlos can feel the twin tips of Cecil’s tongue against the bite on his collarbone, soothing the punctured skin.

He allows himself a moment’s recovery time before slipping out of Cecil, withdrawing the plug from him (Cecil lets out a disappointed little whine, like a child deprived of a favorite toy), and moving to ditch the condom before starting to untie Cecil’s bonds.

Cecil remains motionless for a long minute before bringing his thighs together and rolling onto his side. His wrists and ankles are a little chafed, but when Carlos touches one wrist and raises an eyebrow at him Cecil just smiles.

“Battle scars,” he says.

“Is this a war?” Carlos asks, amused, settling beside him and rolling Cecil easily into his arms.

“I’d fight for you. I’d die for you. Doesn’t that make it some sort of conflict?”

“I don’t think it will come to that.” Carlos has to consider the rest of Cecil’s question for a second or two. “Not between us.” Cecil licks his bitten collarbone again. “Maybe sometimes between us,” Carlos amends to the sound of Cecil’s quiet laughter.

They drowse for a time before the slight night chill drives them to slip under the covers. Cecil curls around Carlos with his head on Carlos’s shoulder, both of them still comfortably naked between the sheets. Just before Carlos’s eyelids flutter completely closed, he hears in the darkness the same thing that Cecil says to him every night that they spend together; all warm honey and no knives now.

“Good night, sweet Carlos. Goodnight.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually do the author's note thing, but I feel like there's something that bears explaining.
> 
> My personal Cecil headcanon that's operating here is that Cecil is one quarter Shoshone, who are the Snake People. (He's also a quarter Hispanic and half white.) I originally had just the scales and tongue, as well as the fact that he's blind but can see through animals' eyes (there's a reason for that, too; if I say 'Stephen King's "Desperation"', that may explain it for some of you). Then my own Cecil, my beta, pointed out that snakes have cloaca... and it went from there.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [oh the distance is not do-able (in these bodies of clay my brother)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082014) by [Lauren (notalwaysweak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren)
  * [in a moment we lost our minds here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153976) by [Lauren (notalwaysweak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren)




End file.
